Armour Piercing Shuriken
by rurouni
Summary: Shuriken. Weapons of cold, hard steel. And a girl who wields them. How and why is she related to the Kenshingumi? Chapter V up
1. The Shuriken

It's been a long time since I've written RK fics. Started this one...at last. Thanks for your patience!
**  
  
  
Armour-piercing Shuriken  
  
  
- One -  
**
**The Shuriken**
It was short. 
It was metal.
No ordinary metal.
But one which had been folded over and over.
Just like the katana.
Ten-thousand-fold.
Just for that small star.
A tip of the deadliest throwing star.
If flung right, pierced right through anything.
Anything short of a solid steel block.
Needless to say, it was a weapon.
A weapon of killing.
_Sching. _
It hit the mark with not an inch to spare.
Right in the centre.
Of a circle barely an inch wide.
Its deadly tip was embedded firmly in the straw.
_Chink. _
Exerting some force, a bony hand removed the shuriken.
Slowly, deliberately, the man turned around.
Walked slowly.
In front was a young girl.
Barely thirteen.
A young girl who was dressed only in black.
Had been dressed only in black.
Ever since she was born.
"Try again."
To be perfect, a perfect throw had to be repeated.
Again and again.
"Hai, sensei."
The shuriken cleaved to her hand.
Its shape seemed to fit her palm perfectly.
She weighed it in her hand, finding her optimum position.
Then spun around and let if fly.
_Sching. _
It flew quickly, almost effortlessly, into the target.
Deepening the hole.
"Good. Tomorrow, left hand."
The girl bowed deeply.
A sign of thanks, of respect.
For the man who was her teacher.
She heard his retreating footsteps.
Felt the weight of the shuriken in her right hand.
Positioned herself.
And released the weapon.
All in a matter of seconds.
Sharply, he spun around.
Caught the speeding weapon with this left hand.
His steady breathing never wavered.
He threw the shuriken back.
It landed with a thud at the girl's feet.
She smiled.
And so did he.
The corners of his mouth were tilted upward.
"Try again next time."
She bowed, deeper this time.
Still smiling.
The shoji slid open with an unmistakable brush of wood on wood.
The man went into the house.
The girl remained where she had been.
And with her right hand, pulled off the cloth around her head.
Around her eyes, rather.
Let the silky black cloth hang loose in her hand.
And with her other hand, flicked the sweat off her forehead.
She walked toward the practice target.
After retrieving her shuriken from its place in the earth at her feet.
Her fingers prodded the deep hole that her weapons had drilled.
And pulled out the other shuriken.
Returned them to their moorings in the folds of a rough cloth.
Let them join their eight other comrades.
And the tips of ten shuriken flashed in the sunlight.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
------end of chapter one------  
  
  
**Disclaimer**: Rurouni Kenshin does not belong to me.  
  
  
  
** Author's Notes:**  
Another set of new characters for another new fic! ^__^ I love creating characters! *grin* But certain members of Rurouni Kenshin (unconfirmed attendance at this point) will be making their appearances soon enough.  
  
Thanks for reading this first chapter! Reviews are always appreciated!  
  
  
  
  
~rurouni 
  



	2. The Sword

**Armour-piercing Shuriken**

**The Sword**

_Bushido. _

The Way of the Warrior.

_Sching. _

The malleable yet strong blade of the Japanese-forged katana flashed out of the scabbard.

It was wielded with an almost unearthly calm.

A pair of dark eyes seemed to glow.

With anger.

_Chink. _

Two swords clashing.

With forces only the blades folded a thousand times could withstand.

_Schink. _

One man grasped his side.

His hand came away, bloodied.

The other man was poised to strike again.

And strike he did.

Bringing the death-blow.

All was quiet in the darkened street.

On a night in the darkest days of Japan's history.

In the Bakumatsu.

And one man, and only one, walked away from the scene.

Not far away, in a street very much like this one, a different fight was taking place.

Only, the results were similar.

One man walked away from the carnage.

One man, with blood on his left cheek.

A vicious slash of a dying man had left its mark.

The man was short of stature.

Yet, his mere presence brought fear into all.

His name was previously Shinta.

Himura Shinta.

But all others, save one, who had known him by that name, were dead.

All but one.

All but his sensei.

And even his sensei had not called him that.

He had given him a new name after they had first met.

Himura Kenshin.

But now, he was not known but that name.

No, definitely not.

For he was the feared man of the Bakumatsu.

The man known only as the hitokiri.

Not just any hitokiri.

The Hitokiri Battousai.

The man who was rumoured to kill with one slash of a quickly-drawn sword.

Rumoured.

For most who had seen him in action had been his victims.

And they had all died.

The man who was the master of the battou-jutsu.

The art of drawing the sword.

Two men walked away from duels of death that night.

Two men.

From opposite ends of the spectrum.

One, a hitokiri for the Royalists.

The other, a swordsman of the Ishin Shishi.

Their paths would cross.

But not that night.

And not far away, in her ancestral home, a thirteen-year-old slept.

----------end of chapter two----------

**Disclaimer:** Rurouni Kenshin does not belong to me...

**Author's Note:**

Updated at last....sorry for the delay! 

Thank you **Chiruken**, **Akal-Saris** and **DiaBLo** for reading and reviewing!

~rurouni


	3. A Night Out

**Armour-piercing Shuriken**

**A Night Out**

Softly.
On padded feet.
She moved.
He was moving as well.
On a headlong collision course with her.
Only, her training would have her prepared to avoid that.
At all costs.
But then, she had not expected his training to warn him of her presence.
But it did.
A katana was drawn.
Its metal blade making the distinctive brush with the scabbard.
He froze in position.
She did too.
Their eyes met.
Nobunaga Akimura was astounded to be staring at a decidedly feminine form.
Likewise, Satsura Oichi was surprised, not to be staring at a male, but to be staring at one so young.
He could not have been much older than she was.
And in fact, he was not.
He was fifteen.
As quick as lightning, with her head making its ruling over her heart, she darted away, somersaulting onto the rooftop of the house next to her and making her getaway.
Nobunaga Akimura, of the lineage of one of the most prestigious and honoured samurai families, could only watch her shadow fly away.
His operative was compromised.
She had seen him on his most secret mission ever.
His eyes narrowed.
Girl or not, honour or not, the goal of the Shinsengumi would not be compromised.
She would have to die.
But first, he had to accomplish his mission.
Prying eyes would pay.
But he had no time for that now.
A few streets away, a young man stood in the deep recesses of the shadows.
Guarding.
Guarding an influential royalist.
And this young man was the feared hitokiri, the Battousai.
He was waiting. Watching.
For the appearance of the man whom he knew would come.
A lone assassin.
Of the Ishin Shishi.
He heard nothing.
But he felt something.
The presence of a fighting spirit. A strong one.
With a body finely attuned to minute changes in surroundings, having been trained in _haragai_, the hitokiri awaited.
Right hand on sword hilt.
Waiting.
Waiting.
Soft, hurried footsteps.
And a figure that accompanied them.
Were met with cold reception.
Sword against sword.
Had Nobunaga not already drawn his katana, it would have been impossible to deflect or block the blow.
Here was the man who was truly as fast as lighting.
The Battousai.
His heart sank.
The wild-eyed man called the Battousai knew that his opponent trembled in fear.
If not visibly, then at least mentally.
Nobunaga steeled himself.
Prepared himself for a battle.
One that he could not, would not, lose.
No matter the odds.
A fight.
She knew it.
She paused.
Stealthily, curiously, she walked toward the scene.
A man with a scar on his cheek.
A sharp intake of breath.
The Hitokiri Battousai.
And he was fighting with the man she had just seen on the streets.
The Battousai felt the presence of another.
Another with the spirit, the _wa_, of a warrior.
But he remained concentrated on the fight at hand.
Anything else he would take in his stride.
And so the duel continued.
And a man whose life hung in the balance, on the outcome of a duel he did not even realise was being fought, slept on peacefully.
Undisturbed.
----------end of chapter three----------
**Disclaimer:** Rurouni Kenshin does not belong to me...
**Author's Note:**
Things begin to happen. All is vague and unclear. So the story moves. 
Thank you **DiaBLo, StoneFox, Nigel, cookies **and **aga_xris** for reading and reviewing!
~rurouni
1 May 2003


	4. Injuries

    

**Armour-piercing Shuriken**

    

    

**Injuries**

    
    
    
    
    

His world turned black.

And in his heart he was screaming.

One word.

No……

The Battousai sheathed his katana.

And walked away.

Pressing a hand to his abdomen.

Trying to find his way back to a safe place.

His vision getting hazier all the while.

Satsura Oichi leapt up from her crouched position, releasing the tension in her muscles.

And hurried over to the fallen body.

A deep chest wound marked the most serious injury on the man.

Ripping a piece of cloth from her sleeve, Satsura Oichi tried her best to bandage his wound.

When she was satisfied, she hoisted him in a manner similar to that of the fireman's lift, and carried the unconscious Nobunaga to her ancestral home.

_Blink. _

_Blink. _

He could see a patch of beige. 

A face?

His eyes slowly focused on the image in front of him.

Two faces.

That of a young girl and an old man.

That girl.

The one he had met in the streets.

The one who had run away.

The one he was supposed to kill.

Except now, everything she had seen did not matter.

He had failed anyway.

He felt the presence of his short sword at his waist.

After a moment's pause, he reached for it, drew it and slashed wildly.

All in a matter of seconds.

He had aimed for the girl.

But when he looked up, found that she was no longer there.

Instead, her strong hand was holding his wrist.

Making it immobile and unable to wield the sword.

Slowly, her eyes never wavering from their intense stare at his, she pried his fingers from the hilt.

And, strangely enough, he allowed her to do so.

Letting his arm drop back to his side.

And lying down again.

"Keep still."

The voice of the old man had an element of strength and resilience.

Nobunaga Akimura obeyed.

Till dawn, the three people in the room remained there.

With an old man skilled in the arts of medicine trying to help a wounded man survive.

A young girl helping him.

And a wounded warrior feeling helpless.

And rightly so.

---------end of chapter three----------

**Disclaimer:** Rurouni Kenshin does not belong to me...

**Author's Note:**

Sorry for the delay; I should have explained that I'd stopped writing due to a busy schedule. This will come in parts, slowly. Apologies in advance!

Thank you **DiaBLo, BC1, cookies and **a stranger who's really irritated.

~rurouni

    
    
    
    
    
    
    
    


	5. Injuries II

**Armour-piercing Shuriken**

**Injuries II**

She stood there.  
  
Utterly alone.  
  
Though not literally.

  
  
She stood there.  
  
Amidst the rain of blood.  
  
The shower of blood.  
  
That she would remember forever.

  
  
A man with a cross-shaped scar on his left cheek looked at her.  
  
With the deadliest eyes she had ever laid eyes on.  
  
With the most powerful sword she had ever seen.

  
  
And she glanced back at the bodies on the road.  
  
One of which was that of her fiancé.  
  
Her dead fiancé.

  
  
She closed her eyes.  
  
Her body could not remain on its feet.

  
  
She had the feeling of free-falling.  
  
And everything was forgotten from that point on.

  
  
With his lightning speed, he caught her.  
  
Just before she hit the ground.  
  
Inexplicable, what prompted him to do so.  
  
After all, what his honour dictated was simply to not kill her, leave her alive.

  
  
He carried her to his room in an inn.

  
  
She was refined, dignified.  
  
And quiet.

  
  
The Battousai watched as she moved about his room with a grace most becoming.  
  
She had long hair; black. It matched her eyes.  
  
Her sad eyes.

  
  
Sooner or later, it had to happen.  
  
And the killer with a bloodstained heart and hands was falling in love.

  
  
With a woman he had almost killed.

  
  
In the courtyard of that same inn stood a woman.  
  
Who had paused in her sweeping. Paused to think.

  
  
How could she look at him in that way?

  
  
Yukishiro Tomoe was chastised.  
  
She turned her glance to the floor again.

  
  
How could she look at him in that way?

  
  
He had killed her fiancé.  
  
The man she had loved.

  
  
When she looked up again, her eyes were steely.

  
  
_I will not love him.  
  
I must not.  
  
I cannot!_

__

  
  
But love, as you all know, has no master.

  
  
Yukishiro Tomoe stood at that very same spot a day or two later.  
  
Staring into the distant mountains.

  
And bidding a last goodbye to a dead man.  
  
A dead man she had loved.  
  
Who now had a special place in her heart.  
  
Forever.

  
  
But her love for another man had grown stronger.

  
  
And a pinkish tinge emerged on her cheeks as she flicked a glance at the hunched figure in the doorway.

  
  
A figure always there.  
  
Always there.

  
  
She smiled.

  
  
He didn't see her.

  
  
But she knew he would have smiled back.


End file.
